


taken to the other side of the sun

by santanico



Category: Coolgames Inc (Podcast) RPF, McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Kink Negotiation, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Scratching, Switching, mentions of faceslapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 08:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11619651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: Griffin laughs as he lands flat on the pillows and sheets. Nick doesn’t give him even a moment to say something, to make a joke or snarky comment - he’s straddling Griffin at the waist and grabbing his wrists, pinning him hard to the mattress.“Okay, okay,” Griffin breathes out. His skin is thrumming. “I see the appeal.”





	taken to the other side of the sun

**Author's Note:**

> \- all i wanted to do was write a fic where griffin was like "hey you should try pushing me around sometimes, that could be interesting" and instead it turned into this fucking bullshit

Griffin understands that some things are easier said through Skype chat, when they’ve turned off their videos and mics, or when they’re texting late at night or early in the morning. That he and Nick communicate effectively but differently has never been a point of contention for Griffin.

So when they’ve been dating for going on two months, and Griffin’s known Nick over a year, he’s not exactly surprised by the content of the texts he receives as he’s getting ready to fall asleep.

**Nick R.**  
_can i ask u a favor next time we see each other?_  
_I want you to pin me down_  
_Like, for real_  
_Not like a joke._

And Griffin looks at the texts, and blinks, and sits up in bed to unlock his phone.

Nick isn’t done.

**Nick R.**  
_Just don’t let me move. Does that make sense?_

Griffin’s not stupid, and he knows that’s not how Nick means it, but he snorts anyway, swipes open the messaging app and moves his thumbs across the keyboard on screen.

**Griffin**  
_I think i know exactly what you mean. Wanna tell me more_

The ellipses disappear, and there’s a solid thirty seconds of silence on Nick’s end. Griffin thinks he knows Nick relatively well at this point, but he doesn’t say anything else, sitting up with his knees tugged closer to his chest as he waits.

Nick tells him everything.

-

As Griffin digs through what often feels like Nick’s psyche, he finds new, brilliant, beautiful things every day.

Nick is ornery and resistant when told - or even just asked - to do something. It’s funny, usually, and Griffin likes it, like all things about Nick. Nick is both challenging and easy to overcome - he slips from pushy to compliant with such a slick ease that Griffin sometimes finds himself on top of Nick’s hips, Nick’s wrists in his fingers, just staring. Staring at Nick’s face, the way his chest rises with shuddering breaths, the way he looks up and then turns his head, as if he’s still shy.

“Don’t be shy,” Griffin says, because he can’t fathom a world in which Nick would be self-conscious about any of his behavior or his looks.

“I can’t help it,” Nick says, biting his lip.

Griffin stops that by grabbing Nick’s lip between his own teeth instead.

-

Griffin thinks if he outlined his relationship with Nick with anyone else - a therapist, a friend - they’d consider it simple escalation. They’d started ‘normal,’ going on a handful of dates when they could, visiting each other when they could, kissing until their lips were numb _when they could_. They find scraps of time together and make it work. From there Nick had spilled secrets, sometimes through text, sometimes with his face buried in a pillow on Skype, sometimes with quiet, bare whispers on the phone.

“Sometimes, I…” Nick says, and Griffin can hear him fidgeting, all the way in California. Griffin leans into his phone, clutching it closer to his face. He knows he should have earbuds in but there’s something in Nick’s voice that makes him scared to move.

“Nick. Please?” Griffin says, tries to keep his voice steady.

Nick whines. Griffin waits.

“Sometimes, when you’re not here, or when we’re - God. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Griffin says. He wants to tell Nick not to be embarrassed, that everything he says makes Griffin’s entire chest soar and burst. If he told someone that - the rush of energy, the way it’s almost like power surging adrenaline through his brain when he pushes Nick around, when Nick falls to pieces under him - they’d probably question everything about him.

“I pull my own hair? Or I - scratch myself, just to. Just to pretend, you know?”

Griffin inhales. Nick sighs.

“Yeah?” Griffin says.

Nick laughs. “Is that good?” he breathes.

“What about now?”

“Shit, Griff, what _about_ now?”

“Are you thinking about…” And Griffin’s mouth goes dry, and his head is spinning, and even with his eyes open he can see the clear shape of Nick in front of him, Nick spread out on his back, lying in bed, a hand fisted in his own hair, the other wrapped around his dick, chasing a sensation that can’t quite be satisfied. “Are you thinking about me pulling your hair? Scratching you?”

Nick’s fidgeting again. There’s a sound, half-static, as he drops his phone. Griffin assumes it must be the fabric of a pillow or the sheets against the microphone. Griffin shifts too, palms his cock. They’ve never done this, phone sex, Griffin realizes.

“May...maybe,” Nick finally says. “Sorry. I plugged headphones in.”

“Two hands,” Griffin says, too quickly.

Nick just giggles, a giddy, fluorescent sound.

Griffin’s eyes flutter shut and he grips his phone harder, squeezes his cock through his boxers and spreads his legs.

“Are you gonna touch yourself?” Griffin says.

Nick’s breath hitches. “Should I?”

Griffin grinds his hips against his palm.

“Only if you wanna,” he finds himself saying. There’s time to give Nick an out. An easy way to laugh it off, say good-night, leave Griffin and his hard-on alone to jack off and fall asleep.

Nick’s breathing comes through the line, not quite labored, but heavier than it was.

“It’s not the same,” Nick says. “I can’t surprise myself.”

“I’m sorry,” Griffin says. “What if…” He hesitates. “I tell you when to pull?”

Nick’s quiet for a second. “That - that’d be good, I think. Hold on. Shit.” Griffin listens as Nick fumbles. Probably for lube. Smart kid, Griffin thinks, does the same. He shoves his underwear down his legs, stares up at the ceiling.

“Okay,” Nick says.

“Wrap your hand around the base of your cock,” Griffin says. When he’s so hot like this, so turned on his mind is a mess, it becomes easier. The anxieties he has the rest of the time - about embarrassing himself, about embarrassing Nick, about pushing him too far or saying something wrong - all sort of slip by.

Nick groans. “Oh, okay,” he says.

“How hard are you?” Griffin says, in part just to hear Nick’s strangled laughter.

“Uh, pretty hard, I guess?” Nick says. “Fuck. Can I…”

“Yeah, stroke yourself. Go slow.”

Nick giggles again. “Fuck. Miss you.”

“Give it a yank.” Griffin snorts. “Your hair.”

Nick gasps, and groans again, low and heavy.

“How’s that?”

“God. It’s pretty good.”

“Relax, Nick. I want you to take it slow.”

“Griffin,” Nick whispers.

Griffin’s jerking his own cock pretty steadily, and maybe that’s unfair, but the thought of Nick listening to him, doing what Griffin asks even though Griffin can’t see, is making it very difficult not to.

“You heard me. Be patient.”

“I’m always patient,” Nick complains. “Fuck, Griffin, don’t be a tease.”

Griffin laughs. “No one’s forcing you,” he says, and Nick moans again.

“I wanna do what you want me to. You know that. Fuck. Fuck, please.”

“Suck on your fingers. Two of ‘em.”

“That’s…”

“That’s what I said, yes,” Griffin says, cutting Nick off. Nick makes a tense, hardened noise in his throat.

“Okay,” he says, and there’s a muffled, soft sound as he - Griffin presumes, at least - slips his fingers into his mouth, starts to suck.

“I know it’s no comparison to my cock, but it’ll keep you occupied,” Griffin says. It thrills in his chest. He wonders if Nick’s reaction is similar. If Nick hears his voice say things like that and his entire body just flips.

Nick moans through his fingers, as if to confirm.

“Squeeze your balls. Play with them a little. I know you like when I suck on them. Can’t do that, but I can pretend.”

Nick whines again but doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t touch your cock. Tease yourself a little more. Don’t worry. I’ll get you there.”

Griffin’s slowed down his own jerking off, because at this rate he’s gonna come mid-sentence and then all the surging excitement will leave his body and his brain and it’ll be embarrassing for them both.

“Miss your pretty mouth, Nick,” Griffin says. Nick hums. “Miss fucking it raw.”

Less of a hum, more of a strangled gasp.

“Get your fingers as deep as they can go.”

Another choked sound. “Good,” Griffin says. His heart is beating so hard. He’s nearly sticking to the sheets with the sweat on his back.

“Okay, you can start jerking yourself off. C’mon. Yank at your hair some more.”

“Griffin, Jesus Christ, I…” Nick stammers. He cuts himself off with a weak moan, and Griffin has to assume he’s pulling his own hair now. “I’m not gonna - I gotta, Griff, please, can I,” Nick whispers, and he’s never asked to come, and Griffin’s never told him to, but that’s thrilling in its own way, and Griffin waits, hesitates. Nick’s voice is reedy, tight and desperate, “Griffin, please, I’m gonna, just say I can, tell me, please, please, I’m so…” His voice wavers as he cuts off again.

“Wish I could see you come all over yourself. I bet you look so fucking good,” Griffin says. He knows his voice is a little unsteady too, and he’s jerking harder, teasing the tip on the upstrokes, fucking into his own hand. Nick’s stopped talking, all he does is gasp and shudder and it’s that, just the way he sounds, broken half-moans and whispers and then, hardened and tense, _”Griffin, Griffin, Griffin,”_ before a shaky, broken breath.

Nick’s still catching his breath when Griffin’s orgasm hits him. He bites his lip and lets out just a low moan, his come spilling hot into his palm and across his belly. He groans as the tension sinks out of his body and he relaxes into the sheets, breathing hard.

They both are quiet for a couple of minutes. Griffin listens to Nick’s breathing as it evens out. 

“Okay,” Nick finally whispers. “Thank you?”

Griffin laughs. He’s got tissues on his bedside table, so he uses them to wipe up most of the come on his stomach. Nick laughs too.

“You’re welcome,” Griffin says as he drops the used tissue on the floor. Morning Griffin can worry about that.

“I miss you to death,” Nick says.

“I know,” Griffin says. “I miss you, too.”

Nick sighs. “You should sleep,” he says.

“Maybe. Thank you, ya know. For...telling me.”

“Right,” Nick says, suddenly shy again. “G’night, Griffin.”

Griffin smiles. “Night,” he says.

The line goes dead, and Griffin’s left with his silent apartment, and his own racing thoughts.

-

They’re both in New York for a week when they shoot a live Coolgames Inc and end up spending most of their free time in each other’s hotel rooms. Every time, Griffin finds he’s shocked by how comfortable he feels around Nick. Everything goes easily. He rarely doubts himself.

They’re sat on Nick’s bed in his hotel room, post-dinner date at a cafe that Pat had told them about, when Nick slams shut the clamshell case of his 2DS and groans.

“I suck,” he complains, rolling on his side to look at Griffin. Griffin turns a page in his book. “What’cha reading?”

Griffin shrugs. He’s only about thirty pages in. “ _The Things They Carried_ ,” he says. “I never read it in high school. That’s what I’ve been reading, the stuff I missed out on in high school and college.”

“Huh,” Nick says, back on his back. “Any good?”

Griffin shrugs. “I can’t say. Some are better than others. I read Moby Dick last summer. Some things suck, in a way that’s...They were written and treated differently because of different times. I dunno. I think some context matters.”

Nick smiles and shuts his eyes. “I suppose it does. It’s cute that you brought a book on a New York City trip.”

“Is it?” Griffin says. He folds the page to mark it and sets the book on the bedside table, takes off his glasses and sets them down as well. “I just figured there’d be some downtime when we weren’t swapping the DS back and forth.”

Nick sits up and grins at him, and Griffin holds out an arm, beckoning Nick forward. Nick curls into Griffin’s side, rests his chin on Griffin’s shoulder and kisses his neck. Griffin leans down and kisses Nick on the mouth, and that’s all it takes for the moment to start escalating.

Griffin likes relaxing, sure, but they so rarely see each other that _this_ always feels vibrantly spectacular.

Nick’s pressing forward, pushier than usual, and Griffin laughs, plants his hands on Nick’s hips and starts mouthing his throat. Nick presses Griffin against the headboard by his shoulder, shifts them so Nick’s the one with his face on Griffin’s neck, nipping at the thin lines of skin, right up against Griffin’s pulse.

“Shit, Nick, what’s gotten into you?”

“I like you, dummy,” Nick says, breathing hot against the lobe of Griffin’s ear. It tickles and at the same time sparks something hot in Griffin’s gut. Griffin swallows.

“Can I ask you something?”

Nick sits back, leveraged on Griffin’s shoulders. “Anything,” he says, licking his lips.

Griffin hesitates. “What does it feel like? When I…” He pauses.

“When you?” Nick says, tilting his head.

Griffin picks up a hand, presses it on Nick’s face. Nick blinks, leans into the warmth. Griffin drags his fingers to the top of Nick’s hair, fists his hair gently.

“Oh,” Nick breathes. He swallows and Griffin lets go, rubs his thumbs against Nick’s hips and waits.

“I, I don’t know. It’s like - I dunno. Everything and nothing. Like being shut down, but in the sweetest way possible.”

Griffin hums. “It’s good?”

“Yeah,” Nick snorts. “Is it - it’s good for you too, right?”

Griffin nods. “Yeah. It’s different, but it is. I just - I wanna, maybe…” Griffin stops again, thinking of how to phrase what he’s thinking. “I want to know what it’s like.”

Nick frowns. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that,” he says, rubbing his fingers into the tight knots at the base of Griffin’s neck.

“Slap me. Or pull my hair. Or, hah, fuck my mouth with your fingers.”

Nick blinks at him, his expression nearly blank.

“Nick?”

“Sorry,” he breathes. “You know it’s not - it won’t feel the same.”

“Are you embarrassed?” Griffin says. Nick shrugs. “I know it won’t be...the same, but when I think about it, I want to at least - I want to feel like I can have some sense of where I’m at. With you.”

“Right,” Nick says, hesitates.

“Don’t be nervous,” Griffin says, doesn’t mean it to come out so fast. Nick shakes his head and laughs.

“If only it were that easy,” he says, leans down and kisses Griffin. “Where do you want me to start?” he says against Griffin’s mouth.

“Is it unfair if I say surprise me?” Griffin says.

Nick breathes in sharply and sits back. There’s a suddenness in his movements that takes Griffin off guard, and Griffin only has time to blink before Nick’s at his legs, hauling him down the bed.

Griffin laughs as he lands flat on the pillows and sheets. Nick doesn’t give him even a moment to say something, to make a joke or snarky comment - he’s straddling Griffin at the waist and grabbing his wrists, pinning him hard to the mattress.

“Okay, okay,” Griffin breathes out. His skin is thrumming. “I see the appeal.”

“Shut up,” Nick says, but in a half-hearted way. He dips down, kisses Griffin hard, biting his bottom lip. Griffin squirms, tries to lift his hips against Nick’s weight, but Nick’s sturdy and prepared. He squeezes Griffin’s waist between his thighs and sits back up.

“That hurt,” Griffin says. Nick stares at him, unblinking. “You having fun?”

Nick shrugs. “Can I try something?”

“What?” Griffin says.

“You trust me?”

With that, Griffin stills. “Of course.”

“Okay. Don’t move.” Nick gives him a stern look, eyebrows knitted together, and Griffin nods. He can’t remember ever feeling like this - wanting to give up and stay completely still, utterly silent, and let Nick do _whatever_. It’s an odd, pleasant feeling, humming in the back of his brain.

Nick lets go of his wrists and pushes his hands under Griffin’s t-shirt. Griffin shudders, Nick’s fingers a light, ticklish sensation against his stomach, his ribs, up to his nipples. Nick tweaks each nipple between his fingers, smiles as Griffin fists the sheets and groans.

Without warning, not even so much as a twitch in Nick’s expression, he drags his nails down Griffin’s ribs and stomach.

Griffin half-groans and half-shouts, turning his head to the side to catch his breath.

“Shit,” he whispers. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Nick says. This time there’s something akin to hesitation in his voice, but he’s staring at Griffin’s belly, and Griffin’s afraid to look until Nick’s dived down again, starts kissing the skin where he’s left thin, red lines.

“Shit. Shit, that’s good. Okay. Add that to things I like.”

“Add what?” Nick says against Griffin’s belly button. “Scratching? Nipple play?”

“Both,” Griffin says, and Nick sits up again, draws his hand up Griffin’s torso and rubs his nipples between thumb and forefingers.

“You’re meaner than you look,” Griffin breathes, and Nick huffs and bends over to tease Griffin’s right nipple with his tongue, then between his teeth. The sensation is barely-there torture, and Griffin tries to lean into it but Nick’s weight keeps him from moving.

“It’s fun to rile you up,” Nick admits, sitting back. He rests his hands on Griffin’s stomach and eyes him for a moment. Blood rushes to Griffin’s face - his shirt has ridden up all the way to his shoulders, bunched up above his chest, and he must look silly, ridiculous, but Nick looks like he could devour him.

Griffin swallows.

“Did you mean it?” Nick says. He’s playing his fingers around on Griffin’s stomach, pushing gently at the fat and loose skin. Griffin wonders if Nick even knows he’s doing it, there’s no method to the touch, but it’s maddening in its own way. 

“Mean what?” Griffin says.

“You want me to hit you?”

Griffin giggles - he can’t help it, the sound just bubbles and pops out of his mouth before he can even realize what Nick’s said. Nick raises an eyebrow at him, stills his hands. 

“I can stop, if it’s just funny to you,” he says, lower and quieter than before.

“God, no, Nick, sorry,” Griffin says, and Nick grins. “God, you’re enjoying this too much.”

Nick pinches Griffin’s waist and Griffin yelps. “Maybe I’m enjoying it as much as I should,” he says. “You gonna answer me?”

“Yeah, I meant it. Shit. I dunno. I just - I feel weird, like it’s not fair for me to…” Griffin trails off, frowns. “Sorry. This isn’t exactly…”

“It’s okay,” Nick says. He sits forward a little further on Griffin’s chest, brushes his thumb on Griffin’s cheekbone. Nick’s hand is warm, not at all clammy, and Griffin turns his face to kiss Nick’s palm.

Nick’s breath hitches, and he traces Griffin’s lips with his index finger. Griffin parts his lips, an almost automatic response, and Nick slips the tip of his finger into Griffin’s mouth.

Griffin’s cock throbs, reminding him why they’re here. He stares up at Nick as he wraps his lips around the single finger, draws Nick further into his mouth as he sucks.

“Jesus, Griff,” Nick says, and Griffin’s closes his eyes and hums, scraping his teeth over Nick’s knuckles. Nick sighs and Griffin uses the pause in momentum to reach up, take Nick’s wrist, guide his hand back.

“Hm?” Nick says, and Griffin opens his mouth again. Nick slips two fingers inside now, and it’s simple, pleasant heat on Griffin’s tongue. He doesn’t think about it, just licks between the digits, coats them and sucks until they’re nearing the back of his throat, and his body starts to seize, just a little.

Nick’s voice is soft, almost reverent. “God, Griffin, you look real fuckin’ good.” Griffin’s stomach flutters and he smiles, moans quiet around Nick’s fingers. Nick tenses just a little above him, presses his fingers further and then turns his hand. Griffin adjusts, lets his jaw stretch as Nick curls his fingers, hooks them _come hither_ against the roof of Griffin’s mouth.

And then Griffin’s mouth is empty and he whines, can barely hear himself but knows he’s doing it, knows it’s kind of pathetic but he suddenly wants nothing more than that fullness back.

“You…” Nick starts.

“Nick,” Griffin says. “I really fucking want you to keep touching my mouth.”

He opens his eyes in time to see Nick shiver and duck his head. 

“I thought you wanted me to slap you,” he says.

“I wanna suck you off,” Griffin says. “I don’t care. Please. You can hit me first or after, or not at all, just…” Griffin picks up his hands, reaches for Nick’s pants. Nick grabs his wrists, holds them still and they look at each other again. “What do you want?” Griffin finally says.

Nick opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

Without a word, he rolls off of Griffin and settles back against the head of the bed. He grabs the pillow out from under Griffin - yanks it, forcing Griffin to sit up - and sits up straight against the headboard.

Griffin crawls towards the end of the bed, looks at Nick and blinks.

“Not an answer,” he says.

Nick just shakes his head, opens his mouth again and then scrubs his hand over his chin. “Sorry,” he says, and Griffin hears the shaking in his voice. “Come here. I want you to suck my dick.”

Griffin’s stomach twists and he nods. “Should I keep…?” He tugs at the hem of his shirt, which is a wrinkled mess by now, and Nick looks at him, pauses to think for a moment.

“Take everything off. I wanna see you.”

“Christ, Nick,” Griffin breathes, but he doesn’t hesitate, discarding his shirt and kicking off his pants. He only pauses when he’s down to his underwear - Nick’s making a point of staring at the line of his cock, and Griffin still has the mind to be embarrassed by the wet spot from the leaking tip that’s formed on the fabric. With a sigh he yanks down his boxers and shuffles between Nick’s knees.

“What are you waiting for?”

Griffin stares at Nick.

“Fine,” Nick says, unbuttons and unzips his jeans. Griffin bites his lip. He should have known.

He hooks his fingers in Nick’s belt loops and tugs and it only takes them several seconds to reveal Nick’s lower half, his thighs splayed, cock resting against his left leg.

Griffin’s mind goes blank for a moment.

“Griffin,” Nick says, and he touches his fingers to Griffin’s head, knits them through his hair. He’s a quick learner, already knows how to make Griffin melt - he tugs without _pulling_ , and Griffin halfway understands. It’s about being guided, about having no control. He wraps his arms around Nick’s thighs, settles down on his stomach.

It’s uncomfortable with his cock trapped, no friction, but it’s also _good_ , a constant throbbing ache reminding him why he’s here, why he’s doing this.

Nick leads Griffin’s forward, towards his cock, and Griffin leans into it.

It is different, Griffin realizes. When he’s sucked Nick’s dick before it’s always been under the pretense of Griffin taking Nick apart, holding him down and making Nick come so hard he sees stars. With Nick balancing him, Griffin goes slow, licks the underside and then gently sucks the head in his mouth. Nick’s hand in his hair is a constant reminder that if he slips up, does something Nick deems wrong, he’ll be removed.

Griffin desperately doesn’t want to be removed.

“Easy, easy,” Nick says as Griffin sinks down further. Griffin looks up at Nick, smiles around the cock in his mouth and hums.

As if to punctuate the differences between them, Nick squeezes Griffin by the hair and pushes him further down Nick’s cock. Griffin’s hum turns to a gasp and he presses his fingernails into Nick’s soft thighs. Nick gasps, his cock pushing past Griffin’s lips. Griffin breathes hard through his nose and turns all his focus to sucking.

“No, no,” Nick whispers. “Relax.”

Griffin doesn’t know exactly why it’s so easy to follow that command, but he stops.

“There,” Nick says. “Don’t move. Just stay still for me.”

Griffin shuts his eyes. He can do that.

Nick starts fucking Griffin’s mouth, slow rolls of his hips, and every single movement is sweet and excruciatingly slow. Griffin stretches his mouth, thinks about the taste, the weight, how his throat starts to adjust.

Nick’s hand tightens in his hair again, then carefully pulls his head back. Griffin slides off Nick’s cock, blinks hard as he watches the trail of saliva that forms from his mouth to the tip of Nick’s cock.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Griffin’s cheeks prick as heat rushes back into them. “Nick,” he whines. “You know what I’m thinking.”

“I want you to say it,” Nick says, and there’s a breathlessness to his voice that Griffin’s not used to. Griffin shifts his hips, seeking friction against the sheets. It’s utterly unsatisfying.

“I love this,” Griffin says. “I love you fucking my mouth. I hate that you made me stop. I want - I want you to come in my throat. Or on my face. Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want, huh,” Nick says. Griffin nods and tries to lean forward but Nick’s hand in his hair stops him.

“Nick,” Griffin says, staring up at him. “Please?”

“You said it,” Nick says. “Whatever I want, right?”

“Nick, let me get you off, please, I wanna make you come, is that so…?” He trails off as Nick switches hands, holding Griffin steady with his left and wrapping his right hand around his dick. Griffin groans, pulls against Nick’s fingers.

“I don’t want your mouth right now,” Nick says, sounding bored, almost lazy. He starts to stroke himself, and he’s slow about it. Griffin stares, wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open. He knows he must look stupid, pathetic again, but any thoughts that would make him worry about his dignity have left him behind. He ruts against the sheets.

“Nick, I _promise_ I can make it worth it, I can make you come so hard, you know I can, just let me suck your dick, _Nick_.”

And as he says it, Nick sort of laughs, yanks Griffin’s hair a little harder to keep him between Nick’s thighs. Griffin moans and stops pulling against it, closing his eyes.

“Jesus, Griff, making me listen to you complain like that,” Nick mutters, jerking himself faster. “You sure are being fucking...fucking selfish, huh?”

Griffin whines and clings to Nick’s thighs. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s afraid if he says anything, Nick will stop, and all he wants to do is watch Nick come so he stays still, tries not to rock too hard into the mattress.

“Griffin, God, your mouth is so good, you’re such a hot mess right now, wanna see you like this - wanna see you like this again, all desperate and…” Nick trails off and Griffin stares, enraptured, as his face twists, as he tips his head back, mouth falling open as he lets out a thin, rasping groan. Griffin shuts his eyes in time again as Nick scrapes his fingers along the top of Griffin’s head and jacks himself to orgasm. Nick comes in hot spurts on Griffin’s face, on his lips and his jaw and his cheek. 

And then Nick slumps back against the pillows, lets go of Griffin’s hair, throws an arm over his face and starts laughing.

“Nick,” Griffin says, sitting up slowly. Nick’s dissolving into giggles, covering his face with his hands. “Nick?”

“Sorry,” Nick says from between his fingers.

Griffin sits up. His shoulders are gonna be sore but he can’t think of a better reason. He licks his lips, tastes the drying come on his skin. Another strange, satisfying sensation floats in his chest. He shifts closer to Nick, touches Nick’s knees.

“Sorry,” Nick says again, pulling his hands from his face. He reaches out and Griffin leans into it as Nick cups his cheeks, starts kissing him.

“Isn’t this a little gross?” Griffin says, and he’s overwhelmed by the urge to kick himself in the ass because he doesn’t want Nick to stop.

“I don’t care,” is all Nick says, and he pulls Griffin closer, and they kiss for a few more seconds before Nick wraps his hand around Griffin’s cock and starts to tug. Griffin gasps, rocks his hips forward into Nick’s palm. Nick’s hand is all warm, steady friction, and he starts to jerk his fist faster as Griffin clings to his shoulders.

Nick’s voice is soft cadence against Griffin’s ear. “Wanna hear you, Griffin, don’t hold back,” he says, twists his fingers, rubs the underside of Griffin’s cock. Griffin’s entire body is shaking, heat rolling through him in bursts, and he shudders as he fucks Nick’s fist. “C’mon, you gonna give it up for me?”

Griffin gasps, groans low in his chest, and drops his head on Nick’s shoulder, still clinging to Nick’s shirt. Their thighs are starting to stick together and if Griffin comes, he’s gonna get it all over their legs and the sheets, but the thought barely registers as Nick touches his mouth again, presses his free fingers past Griffin’s lips.

Griffin moans and sucks, sinks into the sensation of being completely overwhelmed. Nick nips at his earlobe, somehow presses closer, and Griffin wants nothing more than _this_.

It’s one of those orgasms that feels like forever. Griffin knows he curls his fingers hard into Nick’s shoulders, knows he probably bites too hard on Nick’s knuckles, makes too many strangled half-moans and whining gasps. It’s all he can do to not collapse right on top of Nick as his orgasm wracks him completely, leaves him shaking, every muscle in his body twitching.

“Griffin,” comes Nick’s voice, steadying him again.

“Huh,” Griffin says.

Nick laughs against his neck.

“Can I…” Griffin tries to move. Nick’s hands are both on his hips, and they both need showers. It’s a gross mess, and Griffin cringes as he looks between their bodies. Nick unsticks his leg from Griffin’s and laughs again. “Shit.”

“You okay?” Nick says.

“That was not the most comfortable position to be bent around in,” Griffin says, stretching his neck. It cracks with a satisfying pop and he lets out a breath. “Can we just...get in the shower?”

“Sure. Go ahead. I’ll be right there,” Nick says, discarding his t-shirt.

Griffin stumbles out of bed. The come on his legs attempts to stick them together. He flicks the bathroom light on and looks at his reflection, can’t help but laugh as he scrubs his eyes.

There’s marks on his chest and collarbone he doesn’t remember Nick giving him. Two hickies, not prominent enough to last the night, and one bite mark that Griffin’s almost angry he missed out on. The thin lines from Nick scratching have mostly faded into nothingness, but there’s redness leftover, traced over his belly. Griffin spends a few more seconds eyeing his blurry reflection in the mirror, then kneels at the tub to turn on the faucet. He lets it run hot and climbs in, waits for Nick.

Nick takes his time - Griffin wonders why but can’t think hard enough to ask - but when he gets in the shower, he’s smiling, and Griffin smiles back, wiping droplets of water from his face.

“Hey,” Griffin says.

Nick starts to sidestep around him. “You’re hogging the stream, buddy,” he says, his voice just barely loud enough to hear.

“Sorry,” Griffin says, and shifts. He watches Nick duck his hair under the stream, run his fingers through it. It’s instinct that has him reaching out to press his palms to Nick’s throat, tug him gently forward.

Nick has maybe an inch on him and some breadth, but he moves easily enough, grins as Griffin kisses him. They stand under the spray and kiss for a few seconds, mostly mild, Griffin not wanting to risk tongue yet.

“You’re beautiful,” Nick says as he draws back, and Griffin blinks.

“Shut up,” he says.

“Hey,” Nick says, grabbing for the mini shampoo bottle sitting on the shelf against the wall. “I didn’t get to hit you,” he says, and then he turns around, leaves Griffin to look at the lines of his back as he rubs shampoo through his hair.

Griffin hesitates. “No, you didn’t,” he says, wants to follow it up with _do you even want to_ but he knows that’s fishing, unfair bait, Nick’s always given him everything. So instead he shifts, says, “There’s always next time?”

Nick chuckles and turns around again, drops his head back into the spray and closes his eyes as he rinses his hair. 

“You still want me to?” Nick says after a moment.

“Yeah,” Griffin says. He shrugs and shifts a little closer. “It’s cold,” he says when Nick raises an eyebrow.

“Alright, alright,” Nick says, and they switch again, Griffin under the water, Nick catching what doesn’t hit Griffin at his thighs and feet. “You know I’d try - I’d do almost fuckin’ anything with you, ya know?”

 

Griffin picks up the bar of soap and the washcloth and rubs them together. He contemplates as he runs the washcloth over his body. Most of the stickiness was rinsed away, but it feels good to strip his skin more completely.

“I know,” Griffin says when Nick keeps looking at him.

“Okay,” Nick says, sighing. “That’s a relief.”

“One day at a time, huh?” Griffin says, at a loss all of the sudden.

Nick takes the washcloth from him, rubs it across his shoulders and his chest. “Guess so,” Nick says. 

After they shower they strip the bed of the sheets and lie flat on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

“I feel different,” Griffin says.

“Good different?” Nick says.

“Good different,” Griffin says. “Thank you.”

Nick looks at him, something like curiosity and amazement in his expression. Griffin turns his head.

They fall asleep with Nick’s head tucked against Griffin’s shoulder, and even though Griffin wakes up almost every hour, his brain confused as to where he is, it’s one of the best sleeps of his life.

-

Nick’s sporting a backpack and a carry-on sized suitcase.

“This sucks,” Griffin says as they stand in the airport security line. Their flights are an hour apart, Nick flying through to Chicago and then to San Francisco because it’d been cheaper. Griffin thankful for his no-layover, but he hates that he can’t be with Nick until the second he leaves.

“It’ll be over faster than you think,” Nick says, covering his mouth to yawn and taking a few steps through the security line. “Got your ticket?”

“I meant not seeing you. For _months_ , possibly.”

Nick looks at him and smiles. “I know what you meant,” he says, and Griffin huffs.

“I have my ticket. I’ve flown a billion times.”

“Yet you still get nervous and refuse to use digital ones.” Nick pulls his phone out of his pocket as they get closer to the front of the line. “It’s surprisingly quiet today.”

Griffin blanches. “Comparatively,” he says. The line is still crowded; crying kids, stressed parents, a few older couples wearing sunglasses inside. “We should travel sometime.”

“Travel where?” Nick says.

Griffin shrugs. “I haven’t been to DC in months.”

“I figured you’d say outside of the United States,” Nick says, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well, when our budget allows it, we can try,” Griffin says. “Don’t get me wrong.”

Nick smiles again.

Admittedly, security is relatively painless. The line moves fast and they trek their way to Griffin’s gate, find two seats together near a wall-charger. Griffin plugs in his phone and Nick dozes on his shoulder. Griffin buys them both coffees while they wait, and they sip, and chat, and Nick leans against him, reminding Griffin that he’s solid and real.

“I’ll miss you,” Nick says, as the woman at the counter starts to call for boarding of Griffin’s flight.

“Always stating the obvious as usual, Nicolas,” Griffin says, a light for weak tease. Nick kisses him. And then he kisses him again, and stands up, and Griffin stands up too as they call for the third boarding group.

And there’s Nick, standing in the background, waving goodbye. Griffin can only wave once before he has to turn around, hopes that Nick leaves then so neither of them looks like an idiot.

On the plane, Griffin plugs in his headphones, and leans back as he listens to their podcast, all of his focus on Nick’s voice.


End file.
